


Long Exposure

by Branch



Series: Hazelnut [1]
Category: Prince of Tennis
Genre: Drama, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-19
Updated: 2010-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-06 11:52:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Branch/pseuds/Branch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Upon meeting again in the hospital, after Seigaku plays Rikkai, Tachibana decides Fuji could use a friend outside of tennis. It takes some patience, but they get there eventually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Tachibana Kippei was fretting. It wasn’t a common activity for him, but he didn’t have a great many alternatives at the moment. He still wasn’t permitted to walk any significant distance. Certainly not far enough to visit the person he’d been told was also a guest in this hospital to see if he was all right.

So he was sitting up on the hospital bed he had come to loathe, picking at a raveled corner of the far too thin blanket under him. He’d been told before, most notably by his little sister, that he worried too much. But he couldn’t shake off a feeling of responsibility for this injury. Couldn’t forget the direct, burning blue look Fuji had shared with him over an innocuous roll of tape. That look had promised to take up the hope Kippei couldn’t carry for a while, and asked for his help to gather the spirit to bear it.

How could he not feel he had some responsibility for what had happened?

A knock at the door was a welcome distraction.

When he saw who was coming in, though, Kippei surged up off the bed and strode to meet him, hardly noticing the warning stab of pain through his foot.

“Fuji!” Kippei caught his shoulders, examining his visitor closely. “Are you all right?” Fuji blinked at him, looking rather surprised at this greeting.

“Yes, I’m fine, thank you,” he murmured. Seeing the brilliant eyes focus and track, Kippei breathed a short sigh of relief. Fuji’s brows went up.

“Your teammates stopped by, along with mine, to tell me what happened. And Ann’s tape of the match didn’t exactly relieve any of my concern,” Kippei told him. He lifted a hand to touch, very lightly, Fuji’s cheekbone just under the temple. “That was an extremely reckless thing to do,” he said, quietly.

Fuji’s smile was a bit sharper than usual.

“So. Do you think you need to scold me in Tezuka’s place, since he isn’t here to do it himself?” he inquired. A half laughing breath escaped Kippei, and he dropped his hands.

“Of course not,” he said, stepping back to sit on the edge of his bed. “For one thing, you never chose me as your captain, and I don’t have the right. For another,” he smiled slightly, “I have no doubt Tezuka can deliver his own reprimands, whether he’s present or not.”

Fuji didn’t answer, busying himself instead with pulling out a chair. He sat precisely, hands folded. Kippei eyed his posture.

“You’re worried about what he might say?” he asked, more gently. Fuji’s smile froze just a little. Kippei waited.

“It’s more complicated than that,” Fuji said, at last. “I… haven’t actually spoken to him about that match, yet.” Watching him, Kippei recognized a variation on the expression Akira had worn the day he tried to keep a traffic accident quiet from him, and play on anyway. He doubted Fuji would let him push for details, though. At least not right away. Well, that needn’t be a problem; he certainly had the time to spare to work it out.

“If I promise not to ask, will you come visit again?” Kippei asked. “It’s really boring, here.” Fuji looked up with a quick laugh.

“All right.”

* * *

It took Kippei over a month to winkle out the source of Fuji’s disturbance, following his match with Kirihara. By then Fuji was visiting his house, rather than a hospital room. It wasn’t until he succeeded that he really thought to question why he was doing it. Even then, all he could really tell himself was that Fuji needed someone to ask, someone to have the patience to wait out his smile.

The break came the second time Fuji brought him ice cream to cool the frustration of physical therapy. It was also the day after Seigaku had heard from Tezuka that he would be home soon. They sat outside, passing the carton back and forth, but neither the good weather nor the butter-pecan was able to keep Fuji’s attention.

“Have you ever had a friend you didn’t understand?” Fuji asked, abruptly.

“Several.” Kippei didn’t mention that Fuji himself was currently one of them.

“And what if, suddenly, you did come to understand?” Fuji was staring up at the sunlit leaves above them, looking more lost than Kippei remembered ever seeing him look before, though he doubted a casual observer would recognize it.

“And didn’t know how to say so?” he hazarded. He’d realized some time ago that Fuji wasn’t really much good at speaking directly.

“And didn’t know how to apologize,” Fuji corrected softly, looking down at his hands.

“Was the friend hurt that you didn’t understand?” Kippei thought he might be starting to see what the topic of this circling conversation was.

“I never had to. Not before then. Te… he never pushed me like that.”

Kippei nodded to himself.

“Some things, only an enemy can do for you,” he said, and paused. Fuji might be angry with him for the next part, but someone needed to say it and he didn’t think Fuji could bring himself to. “Beyond that, though, you never let him push you.” Fuji flinched slightly, and Kippei sighed. “You didn’t want to be an opponent to him. I don’t think Tezuka will hold that against you, Fuji. You came forward when it mattered.”

“But it means so much to him,” Fuji murmured. “It’s always been his goal…” Kippei set a hand on his shoulder and shook him once.

“Stop that,” he said, firmly. “Take it from another captain, Tezuka cares more for the well being of his team than for that title.”

Fuji blinked at him a few times, jarred out of his introspection.

“You’re right. Of course he does,” he answered eventually, with a self-deprecating little smile that nearly made Kippei grind his teeth. He tightened his grip on Fuji’s shoulder.

“Fuji. You did not fail him.”

After a moment of aching stillness, Fuji took a deep breath and let it out, closing his eyes. When he opened them again he offered Kippei another small, but more genuine, smile, and laid his fingers over Kippei’s hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you.”

* * *

Kippei didn’t have a chance to do anything about the conclusions he had come to until after Nationals were over. Over for Fudoumine, at any rate. Just their luck, he reflected, that after clawing their way to the quarterfinals they should come up against Seigaku. He would almost have preferred Rikkaidai again. He knew he couldn’t speak beforehand. They had to play this round out however it fell.

In the end it worked out well enough. He was proud of his team; the matches actually went all the way to Singles One. Tachibana Kippei had never, in his life, been pleased to lose, and never would be. Nevertheless, he was satisfied that he had played his best against Tezuka, and had no hesitation about approaching him afterwards.

“Tezuka.”

“Tachibana,” his fellow captain acknowledged, stepping apart from his team at Kippei’s silent request.

“Nearly the end of the season,” Kippei observed. “It’s been a good year for both our teams, injuries and all.”

Tezuka’s mouth tilted, rueful and partial agreement.

“It will be at least a year before either of us is in a position to draw up team rosters again, but there was something I wanted to ask you now.” Tezuka tipped his head, inquiring with one brow. Kippei met his eyes evenly. “When we come to play each other again, I would prefer not to play opposite Fuji.”

“Is there a particular reason why not?” Tezuka asked after a long, searching look. Kippei smiled a bit wryly.

“Because he needs someone who doesn’t,” he said, simply. Tezuka’s eyes darkened, and Kippei shook his head. “I’m not criticizing you, Tezuka, it’s just…”

Just that, although Fuji was devoted to Tezuka, and Kippei suspected that Tezuka was one of Fuji’s few real friends, Tezuka saw all truly talented players as potential opponents. Even the ones on his own team. One had only to watch how he handled young Echizen to see that. And Fuji… Fuji couldn’t seem to imagine truly exerting himself against those he cared for.

“You want to be safety for him?” Tezuka asked, deep voice soft, and Kippei relaxed. Tezuka did understand; good.

“Yes.”

“I will see to it, then.” Tezuka turned to head back to his team, paused, and looked back over his shoulder. “Thank you. For your compassion.” Kippei thought his eyes were just a little sad.

Kippei inclined his head. “Thank you for your trust.”

“It’s his trust you need to worry about,” were Tezuka’s parting words.

Kippei didn’t doubt them in the least.


	2. Chapter 2

Shuusuke sat with his chin in his hands and watched as Tachibana celebrated the first week of their first year in high school with an… experiment.

He couldn’t quite manage to simply call it “cooking”, not when he’d seen labs using hazardous chemicals pursued with less concentration.

Tachibana tasted what had started life as a Thai curry recipe with a thoughtful expression. He rummaged through through the spice rack for yet another unmarked canister and shook a careful sprinkle into the pot. After a thorough stir and another taste he finally nodded.

“Almost ready for the squid. Fuji, could you give me a hand and chop those lime leaves into strips?” he asked, turning to the refrigerator.

“Of course,” Shuusuke agreed. As he arranged the leaves on their long axis and took the knife Tachibana handed over, he reflected on the knack Tachibana had, the one Shuusuke admitted all his friends probably had to have, of drawing him in. Of making him participate rather than simply watch. Tachibana seemed to do it more unthinkingly than Eiji, who favored nagging until Shuusuke gave in. It was a game between them. Tachibana just asked, as casually as if he never noticed Shuusuke’s tendency to observe from the sidelines.

It was a puzzle, since Shuusuke couldn’t imagine that someone as observant as Tachibana himself was really hadn’t noticed. Fortunately, Shuusuke was fond of puzzles.

“So, how is the high school tennis club?” he asked, recalling Tachibana’s misgivings on that subject. Tachibana sniffed.

“There is one. That’s almost all I can say for it.” The innocent squid received an increasingly cold look. “The players are third rate, judging kindly, with no discipline to speak of. The coach lets them slack along with no motivation at all.”

“Ah, well, history is hard to overcome,” Shuusuke needled, gently. Tachibana gave him a trenchant look that Shuusuke parried with a cheerful smile.

It was true in both senses, though. Certainly the inertia of apathy did nothing to help Fudoumine’s high school tennis club. But the history that clung to Tachibana himself undoubtedly formed a stumbling block of its own. Ann had told him the whole story one day, last winter, when Tachibana had been detained by school matters and she had detailed herself to console his friend by taking Shuusuke for hot chocolate. Fear of Tachibana kept the coach and other students from interfering with his team, but it probably wouldn’t make either listen to his recommendations now.

“It isn’t as though I make a habit of losing my temper,” Tachibana grumbled, taking the shredded lime leaves and stirring them in. Shuusuke leaned against the counter beside him.

“No. But you can and you have, and that’s enough.” Shuusuke was familiar with the phenomenon.

“It shouldn’t be,” Tachibana said, inflexibly. “Anyone with the common sense to look at the circumstances would know perfectly well that I’m no more dangerous than you to people who are merely infuriating.”

Shuusuke blinked at him. After a moment his silence seemed to catch Tachibana’s attention.

“What?” his friend asked. “It’s obvious that you never let your temper go unless someone provokes you intolerably. You certainly never lose it on your own behalf.”

Shuusuke blinked again. Even his own teammates were a little… wary with him at times. But Tachibana appeared both serious and completely matter-of-fact. He made no further comment, but offered Shuusuke a spoon and gestured to the pot.

“See what you think.”

Shuusuke complied, and made a small, pleased, sound over the rich, tangy burn.

“Wonderful,” he declared. Tachibana nodded, satisfied.

And then he proceeded to divide the concoction into two separate pans, and added four cans of spice-diluting cocoanut milk to the larger, before apportioning the squid and covering them to simmer.

“Then everyone should have a good dinner,” he concluded.

Really, very little escaped Tachibana’s notice, Shuusuke decided.

* * *

By the middle of summer, Shuusuke was a frequent enough visitor at Tachibana’s house to tease his mother by calling her okaa-san, which made her laugh and say that he _could_ almost pass for Ann’s brother. Ann had suggested that Tachibana should start calling Shuusuke his little brother, so Shuusuke could see what it was like for himself. Tachibana had given them all a tolerant look and sent Ann to fetch more ice for the water pitcher.

He seemed to understand how sensitive the subject of little brothers was for Shuusuke. Which made it more uncomfortable when he did press the issue.The most uncomfortable conversation on the subject actually started as one about Tezuka.

“I told him, today,” Shuusuke said, looking out the door to the Tachibanas’ porch.

“Tezuka?” Tachibana asked, and Shuusuke nodded.

“I told him I would play for him until we graduated. After that,” Shuusuke shook his head, “there’s really nothing in it for me.” Tachibana’s mouth twisted a bit.

“Did he argue with that?”

“No.” Shuusuke gave his friend an honest half smile. “Tezuka understands, I think.”

Tachibana said something under his breath that sounded like _about time_, but, before Shuusuke could ask, Ann came flying into the room and tackled her brother, who _oof_-ed obligingly.

“You’re almost too big to do that any more, Ann,” he told her, laying a hand on her head and smiling down at her. “What is it?”

“Okaa-san wants me to go shopping for some vegetables and fish. Is there anything you want me to pick up?”

“If you pick up some plums I’ll make umeboshi.”

Ann squeaked happily and promised to do so.

“Bye, Onii-chan, Fuji-niisan!” she called back on her way out the door.

“Ann…” Tachibana sighed, looking after her with exasperation. Shuusuke suppressed a chuckle. Nothing her brother said convinced Ann to stop calling Shuusuke that.

“It’s all right,” he said, mildly. Tachibana turned thoughtful eyes on him.

“Have you told your brother yet?” he asked. Shuusuke ruthlessly held back a flinch.

“Not yet. Did I tell you that Yuuta is the captain of St. Rudolph’s tennis club this year? The start of term is busy, and he hasn’t visited home yet, but he sent me an email to say.” He turned his public smile to Tachibana, and had to stifle a second flinch.

Tachibana’s expression was even and waiting, and just a touch stern. It was the same expression Shuusuke saw on Tezuka, when Tezuka knew he was talking around something.

“Fuji,” Tachibana said, quietly. Shuusuke looked away. “He’s not angry at _you_.”

“Really.” Shuusuke let his eyes turn sharp, even though he’d already noted that it didn’t have quite the usual effect on Tachibana. He still wanted his friend to know he was getting annoyed.

“Not,” Tachibana allowed, “that he isn’t several times more likely to argue with you about this than Tezuka. I expect Yuuta-kun will be outraged that he won’t have the chance to keep trying to beat you.”

An involuntary snort of laughter escaped Shuusuke. He had to admit, that sounded very likely.

“Fuji, part of why he loves tennis is because he loves you.”

That hit Shuusuke like a ball in the stomach, and he swallowed hard. There were times when he would have preferred a less perceptive friend.

“Does Ann-chan ever get angry at you just for being her older brother?” he asked, quietly.

“Of course she does, how do you think I know?” Tachibana answered, looking rueful. “Not to mention the uproar as soon as I say the first word about her dates.”

“Now that,” Shuusuke observed, “is not something I’ve had to worry about.”

“Be thankful for your blessings,” Tachibana told him, darkly. Shuusuke smiled for real.

“Oh, I am.”

* * *

It was an especially frosty day, which suited Shuusuke’s mood admirably.

He knocked on Tachibana’s door, and made polite conversation with his mother absently and automatically, mind ticking down the minutes until he could gracefully leave her and go find Tachibana in his room. Tachibana let him in, looking a bit surprised since they hadn’t arranged to meet that day and Shuusuke hadn’t called ahead. He ceded the desk chair, which by the looks of it he had been working at, to Shuusuke and sat against the side of his bed.

Shuusuke examined his folded hands, considering the best way to begin.

“The tennis club was talking today about who were likely to be Regulars next year,” he said at last. “Everyone assumes Tezuka and I, and Eiji and Oishi, of course.” He paused. “One of the second years, it seems, has noticed you and I talking at the tournaments this year, and wanted to know if it was all right with me, being so friendly with someone who would be an enemy. He was joking, I think,” Shuusuke added as Tachibana started forward a little.

“As we were leaving, though,” he continued, “Tezuka mentioned to me that I would not, in fact, be playing you. Ever. That you had asked not.”

“Yes, I did,” Tachibana agreed. The casual calm of his tone came close to snapping Shuusuke’s temper. One more question, he thought.

“Did you think I needed to be protected?” he asked, and despite his best control he could hear the cut-glass edge in his own voice. Tachibana was silent almost long enough to make Shuusuke look up at him.

“Yes,” he said at last. Shuusuke’s gaze shot up at that, glaring.

“I am not weak,” he enunciated, low and dangerous, “nor fragile, nor so volatile that I can’t _handle_ playing against you.”

“I didn’t think you were,” Tachibana sighed. He ran a hand through his hair, looking harried. “Fuji…”

Shuusuke raised a brow and waited. He didn’t move as Tachibana got up and came to kneel in front of the chair. Not an eyelash flickered as Tachibana set both hands on his shoulders.

“Fuji, everyone needs to be protected. Even the ones who usually do the protecting. It doesn’t mean you’re weak; it means you’re as human as the next person. And I don’t, for one instant, believe you are less human than the next person.”

Shuusuke stiffened, hearing echoes in his mind of things overheard, spoken behind hands. It wasn’t very far from _genius_ to _monster_, he’d known that for a long time. But that wasn’t the point.

“I don’t need to be sheltered,” he said, firmly. Tachibana heaved a much longer sigh this time.

“Fuji, listen to me,” he said. “Just because you can survive exposure to ice cold rain doesn’t mean it’s healthy. I’m not saying you aren’t strong enough for everyone else, or that you shouldn’t be. Just let someone return the favor every now and then.” His eyes softened. “No one ever really has, have they? Or you wouldn’t be making so much of this.”

That gave Shuusuke pause for thought. Eiji helped him… to make mischief. He always listened when Shuusuke wanted to talk, but he never pushed and he’d certainly never done anything like this. Onee-san, well, she was always there, but… never like this. Tezuka… Tezuka drew him on. Tezuka guarded, but he didn’t protect. Still. Wasn’t there some inconsistency, in Tachibana saying this to him?

“Who do you let protect you?” he challenged. The sudden lightening of Tachibana’s expression took him by surprise.

“Ann, sometimes. Kamio, sometimes.” Tachibana laughed a little. “Neither of them would ever forgive me if I didn’t let them.”

Shuusuke considered that. No one with the slightest observational skills would ever suggest that Tachibana Kippei was less than a very able protector of his family and his team. Yet… they protected him? Memories emerged, of Ann facing down anyone who showed her brother and his people less than respect, of Kamio fielding administrative problems before they could ever come to his captain’s attention. Perhaps they did, Shuusuke mused.

Actually, that suggested a compromise that his heart and mind might both agree on.

“Would you let me?” he asked. Tachibana smiled up at him slowly.

“Turn about is certainly fair play,” he admitted.

He started to sit back, and, impulsively, Shuusuke caught one hand as it left his shoulder. Just to say thank you… it wasn’t enough this time. He lifted Tachibana’s hand, pressed his lips to the back of the fingers, and let go.

He heard Tachibana’s breath catch. The fingers paused, returned to brush against his cheek, light as butterflies landing.

“Fuji?” he asked, very softly.

Shuusuke found he could only look at Tachibana openly for a few moments. There was warmth there. Not just an umbrella against that cold rain, but a pile of towels, too, Shuusuke though, amused at his own imagery. But it was warmth he wasn’t quite sure how to reach towards.

“I interrupted your homework, I’m sorry,” he apologized, veiling his eyes again.

“It’s all right.” Tachibana stood and stepped back. “I was about to take a break and make some tea in any case. Join me?”

“I’d like that,” Shuusuke agreed.


	3. Chapter 3

A month into his second year of high school Kippei was very pleased with the world. The fact that he was currently surrounded by spiky, vicious looking plants didn’t change that in the slightest. Nor the fact that Fuji was laughing at him, silently. Ann had been laughing at him for weeks, after all, and she was far less subtle about it. But the fact was, Kippei had his team back, and that was enough to distract him from any number of chortling siblings and flora of carnivorous appearance.

Not, of course, that he hadn’t been meeting with his team, his _real_ team, to practice all last year. But now they were all in the same school again, and it was official. They were _his_ again, and no one would even consider arguing. Least of all the lingering older tennis club members, none of whom could hold a candle to any of his players.

Fudoumine was back. Was it really any wonder he couldn’t stop smiling?

Even if he was wondering how many variations on gray-green and spiky one botanicals exhibit could fit in.

“It’s good to see you so happy,” Fuji murmured as they wandered the branching, pebbled paths that had, so far, been deserted of any fellow plant-life enthusiasts.

“I suppose I’ve been a bear about the tennis club for the last year, haven’t I?” Kippei asked, as apologetically as he could while he felt like grinning every time he thought of his team. Fuji chuckled.

“No more than Tezuka, certainly. He never said out loud, but we could all tell he was twitchy over not being in control of the team any more.”

“He seemed to respect your captain, though,” Kippei noted, with a hint of question.

Fuji didn’t answer immediately, instead exclaiming over the planting they had just come in sight of.

“They _do_ have a Saguaro!” He laid his hands on the perimeter rope, as if he yearned to reach out and touch the tall plant. To Kippei it looked like the archetype of a cactus: a tall, striated barrel with arms branching out and up. “They’re endangered in America,” Shuusuke told him, sounding a bit wistful, “I thought it might only be a rumor. They take a very long time to mature; it’s one of the problems with propagating them.”

“Cacti are good at enduring, aren’t they?” Kippei asked. “Surely these will, too.”

“They’re like any plant. They endure anything except sudden environmental change.” His smile quirked. “I suppose it’s true of animals, too.” He sighed, faintly. “Tezuka does respect Yamato-buchou. He’s the one Tezuka got a lot of his sense of responsibility from. But Tezuka prefers direct commands, and Yamato-buchou tends to be rather roundabout. I think it made Tezuka… uncertain. Nor was there really anything any of us could do but wait it out.”

Kippei responded automatically to the shadow that darkened Shuusuke’s eyes, and wrapped a light arm around his shoulders. He could wish that it didn’t make Shuusuke feel guilty when he couldn’t help Tezuka, but that was the kind of person Shuusuke was. Natural success always left you ill prepared to deal with any failure at all, even failures that weren’t your fault.

“Humans are more flexible than plants,” he observed. He glanced down to find Fuji gazing at him with the same curious fascination he had been directing at the cacti. Kippei raised his brows.

“You touch so easily,” Fuji said.

“Is there some reason I shouldn’t?” Kippei asked. That wistful edge was back in Fuji’s voice, so Kippei didn’t think the statement was an indirect request to let go. Even when Shuusuke shied back from some intimacy, he never objected to Kippei’s touch. Kippei wondered, sometimes, whether that was Fuji’s promissory note; his assurance that, when he retreated, he only wanted a little space, not for Kippei to leave him alone. So Kippei had waited and let Fuji choose his own time. Lately, based on the thoughtful, sidelong looks he’d been getting from under Shuusuke’s lashes, he had started to hope that the time might be soon.

Thus his increased freedom with touching Fuji, which led to more direct looks. Looks that had begun to seem less thoughtful and more decisive.

Fuji seemed to consider his question, for a moment, before a small, secret smile crossed his face and he leaned ever so slightly against Kippei.

“No.”

Kippei felt a tension that had been with him for a long, long time let go. It wasn’t that he thought Fuji had been deliberately teasing him…

Well, mostly not.

But the fact remained that Fuji was very skittish about receiving expressions of simple affection. Or, at least, he had been. He seemed to have decided that he could relax now. Kippei slid his arm down to Shuusuke’s waist and drew him a little closer. Shuusuke, however, having made up his mind, didn’t seem to think this was sufficient. He gave Kippei a sparkling, laughing smile and reached up to tug him down far enough to kiss him.

It was probably fortunate for Kippei’s heart that he’d realized some time since that Fuji Shuusuke didn’t have much in the way of middle gears. There was neutral, and then there was full ahead. Full ahead, in this case, was a warm, open mouthed kiss that lasted quite a while before Shuusuke let him go. Kippei took a moment to catch his breath and another to be pleased they were still the only visitors at the exhibit.

“You know,” he said, eventually, “for the longest time I thought you were in love with Tezuka.”

“I will always care very deeply for Tezuka,” Fuji told him, softly. “But if we were closer than friends, what he wants from me would be too…”

He broke off, but Kippei could fill in the rest. It was hard enough for Shuusuke to exert his strength seriously against a friend; to do so against a lover would probably tear him apart. He gathered Shuusuke a bit closer, still.

“Was that why you asked not to play opposite me?” Shuusuke asked, suddenly. Kippei blinked down at him a few times before releasing an exasperated sigh.

“_I’m_ not the one who’s that machiavellian,” he pointed out. “I simply thought it would be better.” A chuckle vibrated through the body in his arms, and Kippei realized he was being teased.

He buried a smile of his own in the caramel colored hair under his chin.

* * *

Tuesdays, like most days of the week, featured afternoon practices for both Fudoumine and Seigaku. Thus, Kippei was a bit surprised when he emerged from locking up the club room to see Shuusuke pacing like a tiger in a cage under the somewhat alarmed eyes of Akira and Shinji. He must have left practice half-way through to be here already, and that wasn’t like Shuusuke.

Nor was the tight-lipped, hard eyed expression on his face as he glanced up at Kippei.

“You’re here early,” Kippei noted, a bit cautiously.

“Tezuka said I should go,” Shuusuke said. His voice was low and sharp, the way it got when he was angry and trying not to show it too much. And if Tezuka had sent him away from practice, it meant that whatever was wrong had made Shuusuke angry enough to affect his game.

Kippei had a few quick words with Akira and Shinji before waving his concerned seconds off and leading Shuusuke under the trees beside the courts. There was room to pace, there, and little likelihood of passers by at this time of day.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, leaning against a sturdy maple. Shuusuke stalked to the fence and back.

“Yuuta,” he bit out, “is actually considering dating that… _snake_ Mizuki. The one who was almost responsible for injuring him. That heartless, amoral bastard is making advances on _my_ little brother.”

Kippei carefully refrained from saying anything foolishly reasonable, at this point, such as _It’s Yuuta’s choice in the end_. It wouldn’t help. Besides, he knew perfectly well that, if it were Ann, he would have set off immediately to make Mizuki eat his own tennis balls until he renounced any interest in her.

“Are you worried he’ll hurt Yuuta-kun?” he asked, instead. Shuusuke came to an abrupt halt, fists clenched.

“It’s not just that,” he said, at last, sounding more strained now. “Mizuki has used Yuuta, before, to get at me. What if it’s like that again? And I can’t say something like that to Yuuta, not even to warn him!” He looked at Kippei, tense conflict in his eyes. Kippei winced. No, that wouldn’t work very well, would it?

Kippei didn’t really think that Yuuta hated the fact that his brother was a better tennis player than he. Anyone who watched him watching Shuusuke play could see the glow of pride, and Yuuta smiled when he heard someone praise Shuusuke’s skill. Always provided they didn’t mention Yuuta. What invariably enraged the boy seemed to be the _automatic_ assumption that he was secondary. To be told that he was being approached only because of his connection to his brother, to be told by his brother no less, would send him up in flames.

Well, now he understood why Shuusuke was angry and tense enough to show it openly.

Voices coming around the side of the court interrupted his thoughts.

“…tennis club. They have a lot more pull than they did last year.” Another second year, who Kippei unfortunately recognized, turned the corner. He seemed to be showing a friend the school grounds. He looked up, noticed Kippei, and immediately sneered.

“Of course, it’s still a pretty slapdash club,” he remarked loudly. “Mostly a bunch of first years; can’t seem to get any interest from the senior students. Rumor has it they’re kind of… rowdy.”

Kippei sighed. Tokogawa and he had never gotten along, and the other second year liked to bait him. He’d chosen the wrong time to do so, though. Shuusuke was already in a poor temper; something of his had been threatened. He never let something like that slide, and for it to happen twice in one day…

Kippei leaned back against his tree and crossed his arms. Well, with luck this would let Shuusuke release some tension.

Tokogawa froze as Shuusuke pinned him with an arctic blue glare.

“Every team who has gone against Fudoumine with that attitude has met with the humiliating defeat such blindness deserves,” Shuusuke said, a flaying edge in his voice. “Their courage and determination, even more than their considerable talent, have earned the respect of both professionals and peers. Of whom you are clearly not one. To belittle something you know nothing of makes it clear how much of a fool you are.” His eyes narrowed, glinting, as Tokogawa gaped. “Unless, of course, you would like to try proving to me you do know enough?” he purred, gesturing toward the courts.

Tokogawa nearly tripped over himself getting turned around and hustling his friend away. Shuusuke watched them go, satisfaction wafting off him almost visibly.

“My team will be pleased to know you have such a good opinion of them,” Kippei observed, lightly. Shuusuke blinked over his shoulder, focus interrupted. Which had been the point of the comment, after all. Kippei smiled and held out his arms, offering. After a moment Shuusuke gave him a smile back and came to rest against him. Kippei stroked his hair and said nothing more. He didn’t know whether it was simply the novelty or not, but being held, silently, always calmed Shuusuke. That Shuusuke would let Kippei calm him seemed like a good sign at the moment.

“I suppose that was an overreaction,” Shuusuke sighed, at last, “but it annoys me when people make such petty attacks on you.”

“My hero,” Kippei teased, gently. Shuusuke sniffed. “What about Ann?” Kippei asked, suddenly.

“What about her?” Shuusuke lifted his head so he could give Kippei a curious look.

“Ann gets along reasonably well with Yuuta-kun, and she shares your opinion of Mizuki,” Kippei explained. “She might be able to at least warn him of the possibility.”

Shuusuke thought about that, and the longer he thought the wider his smile got. Finally he broke down chuckling, probably at the idea of the outspoken Ann pinning down the touchy, reserved Yuuta for a personal conversation.

“Ann-chan probably _would_ be able to talk to him about it,” he said.

“I’ll mention it to her, then,” Kippei promised.

For the first time that day, Shuusuke truly relaxed, and let his head fall back to Kippei’s shoulder. Kippei set aside his own concerns in favor of appreciating the feeling of holding Shuusuke, alone in the warm, still afternoon.

* * *

That winter they had an ice storm, on a Saturday night by luck. Kippei found himself wandering through the frozen city, very shortly after sunup Sunday morning, with Shuusuke and his camera. He wasn’t entirely clear on how this had come about, but thought it might have had something to do with the phone call before he was entirely awake, and a promise of hot chocolate.

He supposed it was a good thing, every now and again, to be reminded that his lover was a ruthless manipulator who liked to win, and who, moreover, did it by reflex the way most people breathed. At least this time it wasn’t the pool hall. He’d never seen so many poor dupes fleeced in such a short period, and Shuusuke’s high good humor about the whole affair had been faintly unnerving.

He’d mentioned it to Tezuka the next time they’d met and gotten an amused chuckle in reply. He had never suspected Tezuka of such a low sense of humor.

“All right,” Shuusuke announced, having caught one last picture of the sun making an aureole of frozen branches, “that’s all the film. Ready to go back?”

Kippei agreed as mildly as he could. Not that the ice-coated trees and streets weren’t beautiful, but his toes were getting very numb.

He had never had more cause to be grateful that Yomiko-san was a sweet and thoughtful woman. Not only did she have hot chocolate waiting, she had also put a couple blankets by the heater to warm, and sent them straight up to Shuusuke’s room with those and a tray when they piled in the door, shivering. Shuusuke carefully labeled his rolls of film and put them in his to-be-developed basket before availing himself of either.

“There,” he said, with satisfaction, perching on the foot of the bed and winding his feet into one of the blankets. “And when it all melts, perhaps I can get some good shots at lower speed.”

“What difference does the speed make?” Kippei asked around his mug. Since he suspected he might find himself along for the next trip, too, he might as well know what was going on.

“The longer the shutter says open, the more movement is picked up by the film,” Shuusuke explained, wrapping pale fingers around his own mug. “You can get some wonderful effects with running water that way. Here.” He leaned over to pluck an album from his shelves, and flipped it open.

Kippei’s breath stopped. The photo was a study in contrasts. A small waterfall, long lines of soft white, was surrounded by leaves whose edges looked sharp enough to cut.

“Sometimes it’s like the world waits for you,” Shuusuke said in a far away tone. “The wind died completely just after I finished setting up the tripod. Nothing moved but the water, for the whole one second exposure. It was perfect.”

“Yes,” Kippei agreed, softly. Shuusuke glanced up at him, surprise melting into shy pleasure.

“Today was all very short exposure,” he continued, busying himself with putting the album away. Kippei shook his head, affectionately. Every time he touched something important to Shuusuke for the first time, Shuusuke slipped around it for a while. “The shorter the exposure, generally, the sharper the image. And ice needs its edges to show the beauty.”

“Will you show me today’s pictures, when they’re ready?” Kippei asked. Shuusuke gave him a smile more brilliant than the reflected morning light outside, and nodded.

Kippei decided, as Shuusuke curled up against him to share all the blankets, that this wasn’t such a bad way to start a Sunday after all.

**End**


End file.
